


Track 2 - Heaven and Hell

by annabeth



Category: Gravitation
Genre: Cheating, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Shuichi is conveniently on tour, Tohma the enigmatic, Tohma wants to see it too, mention of past rape, this is what happens when I want to see Yuki lose his cool
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:00:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23859481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth/pseuds/annabeth
Summary: Yuki is dreaming, and then he isn't, and what he wakes up to is the oh-so-angelic Tohma, who has dirty, dirty plans for him...
Relationships: Seguchi Tohma/Yuki Eiri, Shindou Shuuichi/Yuki Eiri
Comments: 5
Kudos: 9





	Track 2 - Heaven and Hell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Blownwish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blownwish/gifts).



> ACTUAL NEW FIC. No, this is not a drill, my writing muse is officially back! But of course for a dead fandom...

Yuki writhed on the bed and moaned around the fist shoved into his mouth, his other fist wrapped around his leaking, wet cock inside his boxer-briefs. Shuichi was away on tour and it was only Yuki, himself, lying in bed and dreaming.

Though only barely conscious of the grip of his hand or the waves of pleasure breaking over him, he dreamt that he was inside Shuichi, his hips rolling the way Shuichi liked, his mouth sealed over the ball of Shuichi's shoulder, sucking a mark into existence on it. But then… the dream shifted, changed. At first he was, even in his dreams, expecting something different. But the sensation of the fingers on his dick felt different; the soft moan that fell from his lips seemed more muffled…

There was soft blonde hair sifting between his fingertips, and a warm mouth replacing the fist that his teeth had been biting down on. He reached up, blindly, and his hand found the pillow, and he groaned, tightening the fabric, pillowcase and pillow both, between his clenched hand as he struggled against the fog of sleep, towards consciousness, and when his eyes finally blinked open, they met the dark, inscrutable eyes above him and Yuki simply… sighed.

It should have been a shock to find Tohma in his bed, caressing his forehead like that, dipping his head down to steal kisses, his fingers warm even through his glove as he touched Yuki so intimately. He should have questioned where Tohma got a key—though it didn't surprise him that he had one. It should have been shocking, but it wasn't, because Yuki had dreamed this dream a thousand times over the years, and finding it in truth was more like the ship sailing into its home harbor than setting off on a distant voyage, destination unknown.

"Hello, Eiri-san," Tohma murmured, and he held his hand, still buried in Yuki's boxer-briefs, still. "You are quite, quite beautiful with the roses of pleasure in your cheeks."

Yuki wanted to scoff, to twist away, to break the hold Tohma held over him, but of course, that was impossible; Tohma's hold went far deeper than simply gripping the shaft of his cock. But the compliment warmed places that were eternally cold, starved for a tender voice, a gentle touch—starved since New York, when he'd killed the only person who'd had kind words for him before.

Tohma had never berated Yuki, or belittled him, but his softness was famous in that it was merely on the surface of deep pools of perversity. Tohma had a quiet, smooth voice, and modulated tones, and he was capable of words that _sounded_ painless even as they ripped you to shreds. He never did that to Yuki, of course. But nonetheless, Yuki's capacity for gentleness, both received and given, lingered in the past, cupped between Kitazawa's palms the same way he used to hold Yuki's face.

In any case, Yuki only flushed harder. He could feel the burn of the blush expanding on his cheeks and spreading down over his chest, and he knew that, on skin as pale as his, it must be startling for him to be so red. Yet Tohma's compliment did deeper things than cause a blush. It made Yuki's cock throb. It made his ears ring. It made his fingers itch to touch—and it made his hole, rarely used (not since New York, New York… whispered his brain) twitch in impatience.

"Now that's a look I like to see," Tohma whispered, and his long, slender fingers crept behind Yuki's balls, swiftly danced over his perineum, and settled in the cradle of his ass. Yuki's mouth fell open, and he wanted to say something acerbic, but instead only a soft exhalation of breath accompanied the movement of Tohma's fingers. Yuki turned his head to the side, embarrassed by his reaction, barely able to keep the tight leash of his emotions intact.

It was only ever Tohma who saw the softer ones, anyway; the ones that were easily bruised. And the material of Tohma's glove was scratchy against his very, very tender skin there. As if realizing this, the fingers retreated.

"Eiri, ah, Eiri," Tohma said. "Look at me." But he didn't wait for Yuki to obey or not, he grabbed Yuki's chin—hard—and jerked his face back so that their eyes met. When Yuki's cock, trapped against his belly and Tohma's thigh, twitched, Tohma smiled. "So you like it a little rough," he said. "Does it remind you of your erstwhile lover?"

Normally Tohma would never mention, never even refer to, Kitazawa. But he knew Yuki's true feelings, the horrible confliction he felt over his former sensei. That man had done brutal things to him—betrayed his trust—given his precious virginity to some thug for ten bucks even as Yuki had pleaded with his eyes for Kitazawa to take him himself.

By the time Kitazawa had sunk into the depths of Yuki's body, Yuki had been silent, his emotions entombed within him, beyond caring about betrayal. Even in the aftermath, the gun hot in his hands and the gunpowder stinging his nostrils, Yuki had felt only a perverse sort of love for his mentor—and that had never faded. Yuki knew it was crazy to hang on this tightly to a dead man, but somehow he couldn't stop.

And now Tohma was above him, lip faintly curled, tugging his glove off with his teeth. He tossed it to the side and yanked Yuki's boxer-briefs down. Yuki lifted his ass off the bed obediently enough—was this too much like New York? Would Tohma be disgusted?—and helped him work his underwear down his legs and off.

Still, the first push by a warm finger with cold lubricant on it made Yuki shudder, made his breathing stutter in his chest. His heart pounded, loud in his ears, as Tohma carefully worked his finger inside Yuki's tight hole, up to the knuckle. Yuki sucked in a breath and held it, astonished that this intrusion—something he refused Shuichi—could feel this good from _this_ man, when it had always only been memories of Kitazawa that had kept him from wanting to bottom. He had bad memories of it, surely it was only natural to tell Shuichi he couldn't top?

Besides, he might never have bottomed at all if not for that rape. He might have fallen for Shuichi like a normal person—or maybe not, all told—and might have insisted in being a top and nothing else.

But now, nothing else compared to the feel of Tohma's finger as he crooked it in a "come here" motion inside Yuki's body, and he tripped a switch that made Yuki's back bow off the bed. Tohma settled more firmly across his thighs.

"That's right, Eiri-san. Lose your composure. Lose yourself." Tohma repeated the motion and laughed slightly when Yuki growled and writhed on the bed again. But this was no dream. No dream could possibly conjure up the type of deviousness that Tohma could inflict.

Yuki's cock dripped copiously onto his flat belly, pooling his navel, hot drops of precome that slicked everything up. Tohma was a person who found anything dirty repulsive, but somehow none of that seemed to matter as he wiped the fingers of his other hand, second glove also missing, through the wet that was collecting at the tip of Yuki's dick.

"That's a good boy, right, Eiri?" Tohma asked quietly, and Yuki had been so distracted by the feelings of intense pleasure swamping him he hadn't noticed Tohma inserting more fingers until Tohma spread them, and Yuki moaned, thrusting into empty air and grinding down against Tohma's wrist. He could feel sweat breaking out over his whole body, the heat of his blush burning him up from the inside out.

"All right." Tohma withdrew his fingers. "I think you're ready now." He rolled off of Yuki and, almost fussily, removed his pants. He wore absolutely nothing beneath, and Yuki's mouth watered at all that skin, pale and smooth as marble, and the shocking red hue of the flushed cock that sprang up towards Tohma's stomach.

When Tohma rolled on top of him, Yuki wanted to shove him off—at first. The weight was suffocating—at first.

The tip of Tohma's cock being sucked into Yuki's body as he breached Yuki's hole made them both gasp. But while Tohma looked as unreachable and imperturbable as an angel, with that white skin and silky blonde hair, Yuki felt like he was falling from a precipice, surrounded by flames, wondering if he was plummeting towards hell—or ascending to heaven.

Tohma pushed, and Yuki's body swallowed up the inches of his cock, one by one, first slowly, then faster, until Tohma rocked forward on his knees, Yuki's legs balanced on his shoulders now so that he could get deeper, and settled into place. For a long moment, it felt like they both held their breath.

Then Tohma withdrew just enough to make Yuki cry out—so embarrassing—and thrust, sliding in deep. Yuki could feel sweat staining his temples, dampening his hair, and he knew he looked a wreck. He felt like one, too. He knew his face was red, knew that his hair was impossibly disheveled, knew that his eyes were glassy, because he couldn't focus on any one thing. Tohma featured prominently in his vision—all that cold beauty—but where Tohma was cold, Yuki burned hot, so hot.

And as Tohma fucked him, not enough to hurt or hard enough to be too much, but still brutal in its own way, Yuki couldn't control the sounds coming from his own mouth, or the inferno that raged up around him, consuming every sense but the ones needed to supply pleasure to his brain. Tohma was barely flushed and hardly looked to be sweating, despite his exertion; Yuki was drenched in it and keening in his throat.

"Ah, that's i-it, Eiri-san," Tohma cried, his words stuttering with the force of his thrust. "That's the way you always look in my mind, when I imagine us doing this!" He slammed his hips forward and pistoned them, and Yuki outright screamed. The sheets and pillows were in deathgrips between his taut fingers. Even his toes were flexed as he hooked his knees tighter over Tohma's shoulders, awash in sensation, swamped in pleasure. Tohma gave Yuki his fist, right up against his mouth, and Yuki bit down. He didn't care if it hurt Tohma; he was too enthralled by how he felt.

When he fucked Shuichi, it never felt this good. He never lost sight of himself in it; not like now, where he felt like he was drowning—and he searched deep within himself for that cool self-possession he always, _always_ held on to, and couldn't find it.

"Oh, _oh,_ " he said. "Tohma!" And he was coming, cock spasming, thick ropes of white creamy come landing on his belly. And somehow all of it missed Tohma. Yuki lay, breathing impossibly hard, on his back with his body limp like an overcooked noodle, and as he panted, he watched Tohma finish up almost clinically, fucking into him and filling him with come. His face barely changed, and Yuki wondered exactly what _his_ had looked like.

Somehow, _all_ of it missed Tohma. It sped by him only inches away, but left Tohma slightly ruffled yet untouched, Yuki thought, as he watched Tohma pad off to the bathroom. The shower turned on, and Yuki put his face into the pillow. He could feel the heat still scalding his cheeks, the cool air brushing across his overheated, overly sensitive skin.

His hole had closed tightly again, without Tohma's cock spearing it open, but it throbbed pleasantly, which surprised Yuki even as he chastised himself for it. He never lost it like that! And he wasn't done berating himself by the time Tohma came back and said again,

"Look at me, Eiri-san." He waited, Yuki could _feel_ him waiting, and so Yuki surfaced, meeting Tohma's sardonic gaze. Tohma smiled. Yuki felt his insides quiver like jelly, and he sank his fingers into his own sweat-soaked hair. "That's it. That's the look," Tohma said. "Let's do this again sometime, eh, Eiri-san?" and he dressed quickly.

The door to Yuki and Shuichi's bedroom closed, and Yuki fell back against damp pillows, gasping and panting, his mind whirling. Tohma had intended to do that: to strip every last bit of composure Yuki had away, then depart as if nothing had happened.

Yuki shoved a pillow into his mouth, bit down, and screamed.

It didn't help.


End file.
